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The structure he’s gesturing to is a massive barn that seems to lean a bit to the left; there is a base of stacked stones that gives way to aged lumber that has seen better days, and yeah, looking at it…I can believe it’s been there as long as he says it has.

“Now, my great-great-grandpa had to do some restoring, see,” Finlay goes on. “But the stone is original.”

“That’s really cool,” I say, meaning it.

It’s amazing to think that those same stones have been here for almost a thousand years, to hear Finlay tell it. It makes you think about what sort of place this was that long ago. The people who lived here. Thehistory. It’s almost overwhelming, going from having only my dad for my entire life to suddenly having so muchconnection.

I press my hand to the weathered wood of the barn, my fingers tingling against the surface, no doubt a precursor to the goose bumps that start to pebble down my arms. It’s strange; there’s that same feeling of humming life that seems to permeate the very air around me, almost like I can feel the vibration of its current. I rub my thumb over the rusted end of a nail, feeling a sudden zap of static shock.

“Fuck,” I mutter.

Finlay rushes to my side. “You all right, lass?”

“I’m fine,” I assure him. “Just static.” I gesture to my hair, which has started to frizz. “I’m used to it.”

Finlay laughs. “Your da had the same problem. Curls for days, he had.”

I watch his smile falter as he no doubt falls into some memory of my father, and I reach to squeeze his shoulder, wanting to distract him from it. He’s been so happy showing me around the place.

“Show me the inside?”

“Aye, that I can do,” he says, discreetly wiping his eye. He peeks up at the sun, which has started to climb much higher in the sky, squinting. “Should be about time to be putting out some hay soon. I imagine that—”

There is a sudden rumbling that sounds from inside the barn, a deafening series of cranking noises before an engine turns over.

“Ah,” Finlay says. “Right on time.”

My brow furrows as I wonder what he could mean, but before I have time to ask, a faded red tractor starts to putter out of the barn, a bale of hay speared on the end by some sort of attachment. None of this keeps my attention for very long, though, because sitting in the seat of that tractor is the last person I’d like to see while trying to connect with my long-lost family—especially given the fact that said person is, for whatever reason,shirtless.

I am momentarily rendered mute by glistening muscles that are bronzed from the sun—large hands covered in gloves gripping the wide steering wheel of the tractor as Lachlan maneuvers it out of the barn.

“Oi!” Finlay calls, waving his hand. “Lachlan!”

Shit, don’t call him over while I’m openly ogling him.

Too late, Lachlan turns his head to spot us just outside the barn, his worn cap casting shade over his eyes, but not enough to miss the way they narrow slightly when he sees me.

Well, fuck you too, I think, followed immediately by,Actually, don’t go there, brain.

Lachlan looks like he’d rather do anything else but turn the tractor off to chat, but Finlay, being the sunshine of a human he seems to be, is not deterred. He clods across the grass to meet Lachlan at the barn entrance, his broad smile plastered to his face.

Lachlan shuts off the tractor, taking a moment to reach above his head and remove his cap so he can wipe the sweat from his brow. The action makes his biceps bulge and his pectoral muscles pull taut, and if he hadn’t already proven himself to be a royal jerk, I might not be able to control my drooling.

We do not lust after assholes, damnit.

“Lachlan,” Finlay says when the tractor has been shut off. “Everything all right this morning?”

Lachlan’s face remains mostly expressionless as he replaces his cap on his head, and it’s almost comforting to know that it’s notjustme he seems to be frosty toward.

“All right,” he answers. “Had a heifer get out over on the south pasture, but I found her wandering around the creek that way on Hamish’s land.”

“Was it Girdie? I think she’s nearly ready to drop soon. She tends to wander when it’s time.”

Lachlan shrugs. “It’s number two hundred and sixteen.”

“Aye, that be Girdie,” Finlay says with a nod. “Might want to pen her this evening. Just in case.”

“I can do that,” Lachlan answers. He glances at me, arching a brow. “Getting the lay of the land, are you?”